


Delirious

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Possessive Behavior, Scent Marking, jealous!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles shows up to a planning session in Danny's shirt, Derek is unhappy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delirious

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally one of my favorite tropes, I'm only disappointed in myself for not writing the sexy bits.

Stiles tugged awkwardly at the shoulders of the shirt he was wearing, attempting to pull the neckline to a position that didn't leave half his chest on display. Fucking Danny and his deep v-necks. He leaned back over the table, where the maps he was supposed to be studying lay. 

And the damn shirt slid right back down, baring his chest halfway to his navel, or so it felt. Oh well, at least his three chest hairs would get some air.

A low growl caught his attention and he looked up, right into Derek's glowing, beta-blue eyes. _Sorry,_ he mouthed, then pointed at his eyes and the map. "Paying attention, here."

Scott, at the head of the table, just rolled his eyes and continued drawing sketchy lines around what he considered their pack territory. "So this is where—"

"Next time we have a meeting, tell your boyfriend," Derek muttered darkly, planting his fists on the table before cutting his eyes back to Scott.

"Boyfriend?" Stiles asked, blinking from Derek to Scott. "What? Scott, did you and Isaac..."

"What? No! Oh my god, he's...and Allison...no!" Scott flailed backward, looking between Derek and Stiles frantically. 

"Not _him_." Derek glared at Stiles, a muscle leaping in his jaw. "You. And don't bother denying it," he said when Stiles opened his mouth to do exactly that. "I can smell him all over you."

"Uh. Okay, the smelling thing is just next-level creeper, but leaving that aside for now, dude, Danny is _so_ not my boyfriend. I mean, I'm sure he'd be a fantastic boyfriend, 'cuz dude is all kinds of awesome, but no. He's not into me."

At Derek's raised eyebrow and flat stare, Stiles hastened to add, "I asked him if I was attractive to gay guys once." He shrugged. "And he just _joked_ about it when I was offering him my virginity on a silver platter but—urk! Uhh, heeey Derek. What's up, buddy?" Stiles asked, keeping his voice low and soothing because Derek had _leapt across the fucking table_ and was all up in Stiles' face, his fist twisting aggressively in Stiles'—no, _Danny's_ —shirt until the seams strained.

Derek pressed his face to the deepest part of the shirt's collar—which, due to the way he'd yanked and twisted the material, was right up against the base of Stiles' throat. 

Stiles was really very proud of himself when his voice only wavered a bit as he whimpered, "Scotty? Help?"

"Oh, no. Sorry, dude, but I am not getting in the middle of a lover's spat." And then Scott sent a _deeply betrayed_ look at a floundering Stiles before he stomped from the room.

Stiles flailed as much as he could, pinned between Derek and the wall with his arms sort of hanging awkwardly because with the way the shirt was twisted taut, the sleeves were pulling against them. "What the hell do you mean, 'lover's spat?'" Stiles shouted after Scott. "Some best friend you are, McCall!"

"Take. It. Off."

"Huh?" Stiles tried to look down at Derek, but with the way Derek's face was mashed against his chest, he just got poked in the mouth with super-strength gelled spikes of hair. Seriously, dude brought his A game with the grooming thing, holy shit.

It smelled really good too, something tropical, coconut maybe... but that was beside the point. Focus, Stilinski!

"You want me to take off my shirt?"

" _Not_ yours." Derek's voice had dropped to a low tenor that spoke of imminent danger of fangitude.

Stiles nodded, doing his best to keep calm. "Right, no. It's Danny's. My teammate, you met him. That day in my...uh, room." He winced, wanting to hit himself. "So I'm just gonna, you know, take it off. Danny's shirt, I mean. Over there," he swung one arm awkwardly toward the bathroom. "That okay?"

Slowly, so slowly, Derek's fingers loosened their grip and he dropped his hands, backing away from Stiles with his head still lowered. "Go. Don't...run."

"Yeah, no, of course not." Halfway to the bathroom, Stiles rolled his eyes at himself and yanked the shirt over his head, throwing it toward the door. A low noise behind him made him turn fully back to Derek, who was glaring down at Stiles' waist.

Crossing to Stiles in a few steps, Derek reached out, the tips of his fingers running over two angry red marks just above the curve of Stiles' hip bone. "What happened?"

"Chemical spill at school. It's, uh, the reason I had to borrow a shirt from Danny. The chemicals burned through mine, but I got my shirt off in time to keep it from doing more than irritating my skin a little." Stiles sighed when black lines began streaking up Derek's arm. "Dude, that's so not necessary. It really doesn't even hurt." At Derek's disbelieving stare, Stiles rolled his eyes and said, "I've burned myself worse cooking dinner. It's nothing. So you don't have to, you know, _do_ that."

When Derek dropped his hand, his fingers grazed across the line of Stiles' belly, glancing off his belt before they fell away from his body. Lust bloomed instantly, sending a flush of embarrassment to color Stiles' face and upper chest. He swallowed roughly, hearing and feeling the clicking of his throat as he did so.

"Uh...so." Totally not awkard. Not at all.

"If you need to borrow a shirt, get one of _mine_ ," Derek said, still staring at Stiles' pale belly. 

Which wouldn't be so bad—hey, all that cross country and lacrosse practice paid off in a nice, lean build—except for how Derek's body had obviously been fashioned directly from marble by ancient Greek sculptors and then breathed into life by Zeus him-fucking-self. The definition of his abs was easily visible through the thin cotton of his dark grey shirt, and he never needed to flex to show off his biceps. Astronauts on the ISS could see those beauties.

Crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to obviously hunch his shoulders, Stiles chewed on his lip and absently asked, "So I can smell like you instead of Danny? That doesn't make a lot of sense."

Until Derek lifted his gaze to Stiles' in a _really? really?!_ expression and Stiles...got it. Holy shit. It made _all the sense._

"Oh my god. You want me to smell like you. You...want me. Like. To be yours. Holy shit." Dropping his arms, Stiles stepped forward, one hand lifting toward Derek to...he had no idea what it was doing, actually. His fucking limbs acted without his explicit permission so often, it was horrible.

But Derek caught his wrist and brought his hand up, guiding Stiles' palm in smoothing over the side of his neck, and then over the coarse stubble of his cheek, and then down the ridges of muscle that made up his side.

"And you wanna smell like me," Stiles whispered. Gnawing on his lip, he tugged on his hand until Derek released him and then he put it back to Derek's neck, wrapping it around and reeling Derek toward him. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he said, because he felt the need to announce something so fucking momentous.

"If it'll make you happy," Derek said in the flattest of all tones ever. Like he wasn't beside himself in wolfy glee.

"Asshole," Stiles muttered against Derek's lips. "It'll make me fucking delirious."

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be mad at Scott. As the Alpha, he can tell that Derek just wants all up in Stiles' yumminess and his look of hurt betrayal is due to Stiles not telling him all the details of this new relationship.


End file.
